


As Intended

by whatsup_buttercup



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anxiety Attacks, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsup_buttercup/pseuds/whatsup_buttercup
Summary: Chris sips his goblet of wine and watches this new Prince Viktor over the rim, trying to spot what’s different this time. His hairstyle is the same, as is his formal jacket, as he mingles between guests at his own grand engagement ball with that strange little prince on his arm.Viktor finds Chris eventually in his circuit of the room and easily pulls him into orbit. Has something changed in his face, his eyes? “Chris, it’s my honor to introduce you to my intended, Prince Yuuri of Saga.”
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 50
Kudos: 267





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will likely be added. This is a short, 7-part piece for Whumptober 2020. Not beta'd, apologies in advance.
> 
> I love whump.
> 
> This chapter includes a vomit mention, so please be warned if you are sensitive to that.

As the heirs of neighboring, tightly-allied kingdoms, Chris has known Viktor Nikiforov his entire life. Their families meet frequently to coordinate trade, and just about every year they would bring their children along to maintain good relations. It’s funny to think of it now, how star-struck he’d been by the older prince, how badly he’d wanted to impress him.

Every time their paths crossed it was like meeting an entirely new Viktor, as he constantly reinvented himself, excelling in most everything he tried. From a fae, icily beautiful youth to the handsome, formidable ice mage of today, his talent alone remained constant. Chris can admit now how jealous it made him feel; envy mixed with a terrible crush. He’s recovered from both those feelings, mostly.

Chris sips his goblet of wine and watches this new Prince Viktor over the rim, trying to spot what’s different this time. His hairstyle is the same, as is his formal jacket, as he mingles between guests at his own grand engagement ball, with that strange little prince on his arm.

Viktor finds Chris eventually in his circuit of the room and easily pulls him into orbit. Has something changed in his face, his eyes? “Chris, it’s my honor to introduce you to my intended, Prince Yuuri of Saga.”

Saga is an island kingdom over the Sapphire Sea, known for keeping to themselves politically and having mages strong enough to control the sea itself in defense of the kingdom. Chris eyes this Yuuri with great interest: middling height, ink black hair, brown eyes, and finds him lacking. It’s not that he’s ugly—far from it!—but next to Viktor he is, well, exceedingly plain.

“The pleasure is all mine. It’s nice to finally meet you, Prince Yuuri. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.” Chris kisses the air above his knuckles, polite and proper, as Viktor translates for him. He and Viktor share a language, and Viktor and Yuuri share a language, but it will take some studying on Yuuri’s part before they can converse easily without an aide.

Yuuri murmurs something quiet, tone flat and foreign, and Viktor obliges. “He’s pleased to meet you as well and offers his thanks.”

“All of that, in so few words?” Chris smiles.

Yuuri’s small hand rests on his fiance’s elbow. As he watches, Viktor covers it with his own. “It’s a beautiful language,” Viktor says with an edge.

Chis feels his shoulders rise. “Viktor-”

All the windows in the room shatter at once, a crescendo of sparkling shards. They aren’t standing by the wall of windows, but even so the chaos moves over them like a wave. Screams fill the air and party guests scatter. Chris barely has time to react as Viktor pushes his fiance bodily towards him, and he catches the shoulders of his strange robe by instinct alone as Yuuri stumbles against his side.

“Watch him!” Viktor commands, and stalks off towards the origin of the chaos.

Chris sets down his wine glass and waits for the ringing to subside in his ears. Yuuri’s shoulders are tense under his arm, and his eyes are wide and frightened. A lack of poker face that's strange in a royal.

“Viktor will be back soon,” Chris pledges, knowing that Yuuri can’t understand. The initial crush of guests towards the exit has slowed, and Chris guides them to the furthest corner from the commotion, mostly obscured by a decorative floral display: daisies and roses, a strange mix. Yuuri's expression settles.

Whatever blew out the windows was loud enough to be an explosive. Whoever did this would expect all the guests to flee, so Chris is keeping them both in place against a sturdy wall and watching close.

Viktor’s fiance says something in his language, frowning. All Chris can catch from it is Viktor’s name. He tries to pull away, head in the direction Viktor left, and Chris has to really hold on to keep him in place. The silk of his outfit feels cool and strange under his touch.

“Just wait, okay? We’re safe here, Viktor’s safe too,” he lies convincingly, so that the tone will carry over when the words fail to land.

Chris has been in this particular ballroom at the palace innumerable times, and should know there is a door to the kitchen behind them, half-hidden by decorative drapery. Thoroughly annoyed and distracted in the confusion of the moment, he forgets this fact.

There isn't time to react. One moment he's scanning the area, watching the chaos through broken glass, and the next a burly man in servant’s clothing rips Yuuri from his grasp, pressing his fat hand with a rag over Yuuri’s mouth to muffle any kind of scream. Chris reaches for him but he just isn’t fast enough before another, somehow burlier man grabs him too, wrenching his arms behind his back. Chris does get a good yell out, before he too is silenced; it’s lost in the chaos.

The rag is soaked with something noxious, filling his nose and lungs as he’s forced to breathe it in. Chris kicks behind him, blindly, and thinks he scores a hit before darkness clouds his vision and he’s out.

* * *

Yuuri wakes with a splitting headache and enough churning nausea that his first thought is to wonder, panicked, how much he drank last night.

When he tries to rub his eyes to clear the blurriness, he can’t, because his wrists are bound with serious metal shackles behind his back. Panic crashes over him, a tsunami of adrenaline. Where is he? Where’s Viktor? Yuuri squints painfully in the dim light and sees the bars of his cage, indistinct. The small room he’s in is brick and stone, with one wall of metal bars that view into a similarly gray hallway.

His stomach, done cooperating, spasms painfully, and he manages to shift enough that when he finally vomits the contents of his stomach, it’s to his side and not directly in his own lap. He’s still wearing the formal slik robe his family sent with him, the one from the engagement ball.

Yuuri nearly loses his balance as he painfully retches, because of the way his arms are restrained. He thanks his lucky stars that a combination of nerves and wariness over the rich Rothysian banquet food kept him from eating much, and he’s only choking up acid.

Footsteps on stone. His misery summoned someone—a guard? Yuuri has an expensive pair of spectacles that he purposefully did not wear to his presentation to the Rothysian elite, wanting to hide his weakness, and thus can only squint at the blurry shape at the bars, dressed in black and looming.

It’s unnerving, being stared at so intensely. He can feel the figure’s gaze on his skin, even though he can’t make out their features. Dizzy and humiliated, sitting next to a pile of his own wretched bile, Yuuri tries to square his shoulders and pull together some semblance of control. He’s a prince, a representative of his country, his people, his family.

He manages, but only just.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober 2020 Day 1: Waking Up Restrained | ~~Shackled~~ | ~~Hanging~~
> 
> You can see the month's full prompt list [here](https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/about).
> 
> Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

Chris drinks over-steeped tea from a fine teacup with golden edges and intricate painted blue flowers, sulking through his headache. He’d woken up after being _kidnapped_ in a well-appointed bedroom, which was a nice turn of events compared to where his captors could have taken him.

The prince from Saga is nowhere to be seen, and the room’s single, high window is sturdily boarded from the outside. Someone had pushed a full tea service through a small flap in the otherwise locked door, and Chris deduced that anyone going through this much trouble wasn’t going to bring him all the way here just to attempt poison.

The tea is dark and smokey, Rothysian. That, combined with his acceptable accommodations, leads him to conclude 1) he is not the intended target and 2) this is an internal squabble.

Chris would bet his favorite horse that this entire thing is orchestrated by someone displeased with the Prince Viktor’s choice of spouse, considering the venue and bride snatching.

There are no books in the room, or anything sharp. Chris checks. Twice. Hours stretch on in the quiet, and Chis, a people person, becomes quite bored.

Dinner arrives on a tray, this time carried by a masked man. He’s burly enough to be the same one who grabbed him from the ball, perhaps, and an orb of lurid red magefire floats above his palm. Chris takes that for the threat it is.

“You will not be harmed,” the man says slowly, accent thick.

“I certainly hope so,” Chris agrees, making a point to look at the fire in his hand. “Where have you put my good friend Viktor’s precious bride?”

The man sets down the tray and backs out of the room, locking the door behind him. Ah, well, it had been worth an attempt.

Chris can’t do offensive magic, or defensive for that matter. His skills, which are a closely guarded state secret, are more… personal in nature. Communication over long distances, regardless of language. Empathy. The ability to _nudge_ emotions, manipulate a situation. People would not be so open and trusting with him, if they knew, so it’s best they do not know. Chris keeps it subtle.

He looked and saw in this man a lot of things: anger, of the burning, rage-filled sort, smug disgust, and tight, anxious fear. A man pushed into a corner.

Dangerous.

After his dinner is consumed, Chis makes a show of laying down for a nap, nestling into the ugly bed sheets and letting his breathing even out. Then, gathering his energy, he tries to reach out to Viktor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this is a daily prompt-type event, each piece is quite short.
> 
> Whumptober 2020 Day 2: ~~“Pick Who Dies”~~ | ~~Collars~~ | Kidnapped


	3. Chapter 3

Shouting, through the door. A command, from the tone. Yuuri’s Rothysian is basic still, despite his studies; he was promised to the Nikiforov family a mere three months before, and previously the consonant-heavy language hadn’t been in the plans. 

A man gestures angrily through the bars, waving a muscled arm to direct him into the corner. His clothing is dirty, and he doesn’t appear to be wearing a uniform. Yuuri, still feeling dizzy, shuffles to the side. 

Yuuri can’t feel his own magic, and it’s left him unbalanced. The shackles on his wrists must be blockers.

The yelling man enters the room as another stands watch at the door. He’s no match for them, especially in this state. _Kidnapped._ How utterly embarrassing. Yuuri had gathered that his very sudden engagement to the crown prince would face some internal opposition, but if that’s what this is, the reaction has been swift.

Bound and dizzy as he is, the first hard slap across his cheek knocks him back hard enough to hear the sickening thud as his skull connects with the stone wall. Yuuri staggers. Without pause, he’s backhanded a second time from the other direction. All his dance training doesn’t help his balance a bit as he falls hard on the floor, only narrowly missing a pile of his own sick. His heartbeat pumps wild in his ears.

Yuuri can taste blood where his lip has split. He stays down.

A third figure walks in, different from the others. A woman, with shiny black boots. He tries to get a better look and is kicked hard in the side, breath whooshing out of his lungs. 

“So this is his choice?” She laments in Yuuri’s language, accent thick and unfamiliar. 

It _hurts_ as Yuuri’s hair is pulled back. She grips it tightly at the base of his skull, wrenching him upright so she can peer into his eyes. She’s pale and blonde, like most of the people of this country; a thin veil hides her features. 

“I will not kill you,” she continues, “but I am not gentle. I will make him regret this decision for the rest of his life.”

“He will never love you,” Yuuri says, knowing it’s a bad idea and unable to resist.

She slaps him across the face, hard enough to slam his head back. Dizzy sparks fill Yuuri’s vision. “Probably not. But if I know anything about that man, this’ll hurt him enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober 2020 Day 3: Manhandled | ~~Forced to their Knees~~ | ~~Held at Gunpoint~~


	4. Chapter 4

As a child, Yuuri often took to the labyrinth-like gardens as a place to hide. When everything became too much, he’d run off and curl up somewhere small and quiet. It would cause endless distress for his caretakers, who would get in trouble, and Yuuri himself would be scolded. If you sleep outside without a blanket, of course you’ll catch a cold.

Yuuri’s not sure why that memory is coming back now, as he lays curled up in the fetal position on the flagstones. Both his eyes are almost swollen shut, and he knows that if he so much as moves an inch, the dull roar of pain inside him will turn into a typhoon. He fervently wishes that he’d shown aptitude for healing magic instead of his now-useless affinity for water. Rothys is landlocked. 

One of the men scolds the man still beating him. Whatever he says must work, because after one final kick into his aching side, they stop.

Expect one thing, receive another. When his betrothal to the famous prince of Rothys was proclaimed, he’d met the news with dread in his heart. The tales of his skill and beauty were known by all, and even if only a fraction of his deeds were true to life, they were beyond anything in Yuuri’s meager existence. How disappointed the foreign prince would be, to find Yuuri bound to him: plain, reclusive, anxious, and afflicted with unpredictable magic. 

Even their first meeting was a disaster: Yuuri, stiff with nerves, rendered mute by Viktor’s beauty and chastened by the boredom in his gaze.

What would have happened if Viktor hadn’t caught him dancing? How would their lives be if Viktor hadn’t chosen to join in?

Yuuri received, in those brief weeks after their meeting in Saga, the priceless gift of Viktor’s affection. He learned the shape of his true smile, and the extent of his sharp wit. He saw and was seen in return.

Time must pass, because the pain settles in. He drifts. Viktor won’t let this stand, the kidnapping of his betrothed, and it’s only a matter of time before he restores his pride. Yuuri hopes he can do the same. The precedent it’s set is disgraceful; barely here a few days and already brought so low. 

_Prince Yuuri?_

The voice is so quiet Yuuri is convinced he imagined it.

_Yuuri?_

It’s a magevoice, in his head. A rare gift. His heart briefly lurches—Phichit?—but no, the tone is all wrong.

 _Hello?_ Yuuri tries to respond, clumsy.

 _Ah, you can talk back with words! Impressive._ A swirl of what could be respect. 

His confusion must show. 

_It’s Chris, Viktor introduced us before, well, all of this. They took me too, but it seems you were the primary target._

Magevoice communication transcends language. _My apologies, Chris._

 _Seems like you’re having a much rougher time than I am._ Yuuri clamps down on his emotions; the pain must be leaking through. _Just letting you know that I’ve made contact with Viktor. Not many people are aware of my talents, and it is quite useful sometimes. I’d appreciate your discretion, of course._

 _Yes, of course,_ Yuuri promises, feeling the first bloom of hope. Viktor knows. Viktor knows!

_Hold out a while longer and we should be able to get you back to your intended very soon._

_Thank you, Chris._ He tries to send gratitude along with the thought.

Yuuri curls up on himself and vows to endure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober day 4: Caged | ~~Buried Alive~~ | ~~Collapsed Building~~


	5. Chapter 5

Chris has some ideas about where they are, and they’re only reinforced by how easy it was to reach out to Viktor. He’ll eat his own boot if they’re further than the edge of the city. If he had to guess, they’re in one of the decommissioned guard towers in the Old Wall. After its shiny new counterpart had been built, and the city expanded, much of the Old Wall was broken up and repurposed for housing and industry. Only a few of the sturdy guard towers remain; he and Viktor had explored one once as children, and had been shamed and punished for their foolishness thoroughly upon their return. 

Viktor should be making his way to them very soon, charging in like vengeance personified to sweep up his wounded fiance from evildoers. Chis just has to wait it out. He does some stretches, eats the provided food, and shuffles through a boring book—an almanac from 20 years ago, probably left behind by the guard captain who used to occupy these quarters. 

“Back away, hands up!” Booms a voice at the door.

Chris, sitting on the bed, peacefully raises his hands. He’s expecting, perhaps, another chat with their leader. Instead, the limp, bloodied figure of the prince of Saga is unceremoniously thrown onto the floor before the door is slammed shut.

He doesn’t make a sound at the impact. Chris rushes to check if he’s even breathing.

As an empath, it’s painful to be around so much suffering. It’s hard to see a part of him that isn’t bruised or bloodied; the beautiful robe he’d been wearing is dirty and scuffed. He hefts him up into his arms and carries his dead weight to the bed, hissing through his teeth as he takes in the damage. His mental voice had sounded strained, sure, but not reflective of this. The little prince must know someone else with Chris’s gift and know enough to make rudimentary shields. 

There’s muffled shouting outside, as Chris stretches out his senses -- there is Viktor’s mind, bright as a beacon nearby. The Winter Prince will not lose, and it’s only a matter of time before they’re rescued. He gives Viktor a sharp _ping_ , letting him know how close they are, and that he’s with Yuuri. Then he switches gears.

It’s important that both of them are able to escape as soon as they’re able to, but Yuuri doesn’t look like he can stand, much less walk. Chris tries to judge if a piggyback hold would be the best bet or if the bed sheets can be fashioned into a sling. If he’s right, they don’t have long to go, on his back is the best bet.

Locating the softest fabric in the place – a towel – Chris dampens it with water and uses that to gently wipe some of the grime off Yuuri’s face. He looks somehow smaller, asleep. He can’t heal, but he can perhaps redirect, nudging the sleeping man’s dreams into something softer.

 _Viktor’s coming soon,_ he tries. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one doesn't follow they day's prompts, shh.


	6. Chapter 6

Viktor’s arrival is heralded by the temperature of the room dropping sharply. Yuuri wakes with a gasp and blurrily takes stock of his surroundings.

He’s being carried on the blonde prince’s back, very awkwardly propped against a wall. Chris is supporting his hips in a hold reminiscent of someone trying to carry a gigantic sack of rice, and Yuuri, shifts his center of balance and grip to be more accommodating. 

He can see his breath in the air, hanging like a frozen cloud. “Viktor,” Yuuri says, as clearly as possible.

Chris nods and mimes silence with a finger to his lips.

Yuuri owes Chris for taking care of him, but he can’t allow this to be how Viktor finds him. Summoning all his strength, Yuuri uses every bit of clumsy projection skill he learned with Phichit and sends _hard_ in Chris’s direction: _set me down, I can walk._

If anything, Chris’s grip on him tightens. Yuuri is used to being underestimated.

_Maybe you can walk, but I don’t believe you can run, and we will need to run._

The air is getting colder; there isn’t much time left. 

Compared to these westerners, Yuuri is shorter, but years of dance and mage combat training ensure he’s got muscles to match. He struggles his way out of Chris’s grip, hissing at the pain of it, and is relieved when Chris lets him down.

“Thank you,” Yuuri says aloud, aware it’s not going to be understood.

It’s harder than he expects. Yuuri’s still dizzier than he should be, and it hurts terribly to put weight on his left ankle. There’s a pitcher of water on a nearby shelf, remains of a former meal. Yuuri calls to it with his magic and uses it and his inner sleeve to wipe some of the blood and grime off his face. He uses the rest--a few cups worth--to surround and support his ankle as a temporary brace. It takes far more concentration than normal.

He adjusts his robes to hide it just as thick white frost begins to pool and spread under their door. The ice spreads in the seams to the door, growing and cracking the wood frame. Yuuri and Chris both step back before the door itself can fall in, hinges broken. 

Viktor’s eyes are an electric blue from the use of his magic, vivid in his pale face. When he sees both Yuuri and Chris standing on the other side, he smiles, quick and sharp. “There you are. Time to go.”

\---

Chris isn’t sure how Yuuri is standing, but there he is, even going so far as to walk towards Viktor with only a slight wobble to his step. His injuries are not trivial ones; the sheer willpower and magical strength required to keep upright are ridiculous. Chris thinks of his initial impression of the prince and tries to match it to what he sees now.

Perhaps he had still been jealous, to let it cloud his eyes so. Plain? Hardly. The prince of Saga is nothing less than a strength to match Viktor’s own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober 2020 day 7: Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning:** Description of an anxiety attack.

The old tower is fully surrounded by a truly ridiculous amount of guardsmen, eager to atone for the lapse in security that allowed their prince’s betrothed to be snatched from under their noses. As with all things in the city, people cluster around to watch the spectacle, some holding the hands of small children and others watching from rooftops; an exciting show brought to their doors.

Viktor ordered the culprits captured, not killed; personal feelings aside, they must be interrogated before meeting any punishment.

Seeing the bruises on Yuuri’s face, Viktor feels his magic curling in his palms, stronger even after all the use. The rain from earlier in the day left enough puddles on the ground and humidity in the air gave him quite a lot to work with, and even from outside the tower ice crystals must be visible, glittering and _sharp._

“Glad to see you,” Chris says with a tense smile. His demeanor is different: unnaturally subdued.

Viktor nods. “Likewise.”

Yuuri looks like a stiff wind will knock him over. Viktor reaches out to wrap a supportive arm around his side, but only the briefest of touches causes his face to pinch in pain.

“Yuuri–”

“We need to go, right?” Yuuri says, that determined glint in his eyes as he scans the hallway. The two unlucky guards who had been at the door when Viktor advanced are slumped against a wall with their wrists and ankles frozen together in chains of ice.

The more Viktor looks, the more bruises he sees; his heart hurts. “My people have the situation under control, and I have personally taken care of everyone on this floor,” _with much enthusiasm_ , “We don’t need to hurry, except to get you to a healer.”

Yuuri lets Viktor hold a little more of his weight.

“I’m fine too, by the way, thanks for asking,” Chris says.

* * *

One of the royal family’s travel carriages is brought to convey them back to the palace, looking very out of place on the city streets with its thick blue curtains and magefire lamps. The second the door closes, Yuuri slumps against Viktor’s side like his strings have been cut.

Viktor hisses through his teeth. “Oh, Yuuri.”

“I’m surprised he was standing this long on that ankle,” Chris says, “you didn’t mention he’s a water mage when we were introduced.”

There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with Yuuri’s ankle specifically as they walked to the carriage. Viktor had put more of his worry on the head wounds. Now, with Yuuri dozing against his shoulder, he shifts Yuuri’s filthy robe to get a look at his ankles. It doesn’t take a healer to spot the problem: angry swelling is visible over his short shoes… which are soaking wet.

“The Katsukis are famous for their water magic,” Viktor explains, half on auto-pilot.

“Of course, of course,” Chris agrees. “He was using it to make a splint, very resourceful.”

Viktor’s magic and feelings are tightly linked, and famously under control. That is, before Yuuri. The air inside the carriage is still making their breath fog from cold, and Viktor breathes deeply to calm down. It was easier when he felt apart from the world, now he feels overly close; Yuuri’s hands are chilled in his own and he tries to rub some warmth back.

Barely a week with Yuuri in Rothys and already this.

“I’m sorry you got caught up in this,” Viktor says. Chris is one of his oldest friends, if a distant one.

“Apology accepted but not needed. They treated me as more of a temporary guest.” Chris scratches the back of his neck, wincing. “I can’t say that I did much to help. Sorry about that.”

“Your magic got us here quicker than we otherwise would have. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Not quick enough.”

The air in the carriage is no longer quite as frigid. Their seats shift and shake as the horses carry them swiftly back to the palace.

Chris looks down at his hands. “He’s a good match for you, I think.”

Viktor doesn’t feel like a great person to be matched with, looking at all the scrapes and bruises on Yuuri.

* * *

The healers did what they could, but there’s only so much magic the body can take in a day; the energy has to come from somewhere, after all. The royal physician, Nadia, laid her hand over Yuuri’s head and spent a long time in silence, delicately tending to his head wounds with closed eyes and concentration on her face. Her assistant spent a similar length of time checking for internal injuries, hands glowing as she poked and prodded.

They both looked haggard by the end of that first session.

“We’ll tend to his ankle tomorrow, if he has enough energy, Your Highness,” Nadia says. “But he’s out of any danger, I’m happy to say.”

“Thank you,” Viktor says, shaking both their hands. His back hurts from hunching next to Yuuri’s bed on the uncomfortable chair provided. “Is he safe to move? I think after all that happened, he might feel better waking up in my chambers.”

“It should be fine, Your Highness. I’ll be surprised if he wakes up again before tomorrow, with all that’s happened. You look like you could use the rest as well, if it isn’t too bold of me to say. I’ve heard tales of the dramatic rescue; magic always has a price, as you know.”

Viktor’s bone-deep tired. “Yes, that it does.”

“I’ll have someone help you carry him–”

“I’ll be able to manage,” Viktor interjects smoothly.

“–because as strong as you are, it’s a good idea to have someone to open all those pesky doors while your arms are full,” Nadia continues, nonplussed.

Viktor runs his hand through his hair. “You’re right, of course. Thank you, Nadia.”

Yuuri’s a strong mage and a strong person; a prince of equal standing. Still, Viktor picks him up like he might shatter, careful and sure.

The tight feeling in his chest only eases once Yuuri is in his bed. They’re engaged, not married yet, but he and Yuuri are more than familiar with each other’s bodies. Viktor finally gets him out of his soiled robe and into a loose set of Viktor’s own sleepwear, which is just big enough on his frame to be charming. Yuuri doesn’t stir even as Viktor wipes the few remaining smudges of blood and dirt from his face.

Makkachin, good girl that she is, stays off the bed until Viktor calls her. Then, with his soon-to-be-husband sandwiched by standard poodle, thick blankets, and Viktor himself, he feels peaceful enough to fall asleep.

* * *

Yuuri wakes trapped in softness and for a moment is struck by a panic so strong that he can’t get a full breath in his lungs. His limbs feel like lead, and the internal well of magic is fuzzy and near-depleted. He gasps for air in the darkness, heart beating fast.

A cool hand on his face. “Yuuri, it’s okay, I’m here, everything’s fine.”

“Viktor?” His memories catch up. Right, they escaped. Everything _is_ fine. His body is still in a full blown panic, but at least his mind knows that anchoring fact. “Sorry,” he chokes out, wetly.

Viktor looks comically panicked. “Are you in a lot of pain, still? Here, I can summon the healers–”

“No, no, it’s all right, sorry, this happens sometimes.” The words are hard to get out, with his breath still coming quick and fast. Yuuri's ankle in particular still screams with pain, but comparatively he’s feeling much better.

Makkachin sniffs his face. Viktor’s leaning half-over him, bright worry in his beautiful eyes. In the past, when this kind of attack happened, Yuuri fought hard to get away from everyone else so he could ride it out alone. It was easier that way, and suited his pathetic sense of pride.

Yuuri feels weirdly comforted by their presence now. While his body is still working the adrenaline through his system, and thoughts are hard to follow from beginning to end, his heart feels soothed.

Viktor doesn’t try to coddle him with words, and that helps. For someone renowned for ice magic, he’s like a furnace laying beside him. Surprised by himself, Yuuri reaches out and curls his aching body into Viktor’s steady side.

It passes, like it always does, after a time. Viktor pets his hair. Yuuri’s heart settles into its normal rhythm.

“Sorry about that,” Yuuri mumbles against Viktor’s chest.

“If anyone needs to ask for forgiveness, it’s me, darling,” Viktor says. “I’m sorry my country gave you such an awful welcome.”

“Did you–”

“They’ve all been captured,” Viktor says, “every last one.”

“Good.” Still, it will be awhile before Yuuri is comfortable in the ballroom. “Thank you, Viktor. You were amazing.”

Viktor laughs and Yuuri can feel it in his chest. “Thank _you_ for being so kind to forgive my mistakes.”

It takes more energy than it should to lean up and claim Viktor’s lips, but it’s worth it; sorely needed affection. Viktor shifts him back against the pillows and deepens the kiss. Realistically, Yuuri knows he’s tear-stained and still filthy from the ordeal. Viktor doesn’t seem to mind.

They trade kisses quite pleasantly until Viktor accidentally touches his ankle, and Yuuri can’t stifle his gasp of pain.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, darling. Your ankle is next to be healed, once your magic recovers enough,” Viktor says.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri insists, but the moment is over. Viktor fluffs his pillows, frown on his pretty face. “Viktor.”

“Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?”

“All I want is you.” Yuuri reaches out a hand. “And a bath, later, but just you for now.”

* * *

The wedding and its reception go off without a hitch: a celebration in two kingdoms, rich with joy. Christophe is one of the first to offer congratulations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'll just do short little chapters for Whumptober! No stress!"
> 
> Foolish thinking. I can get stressed about anything, haha. Not beta'd, merely yeeted into the void.
> 
> I'm not sure I really achieved Whump levels of anything, but it was fun. Viva la hurt/comfort. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. Best wishes in these crazy times.


End file.
